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Karen Hollis | Nov 30, 2025 Advent 1 | Hope
Isaiah 2:1-5 The word that Isaiah son of Amoz saw concerning Judah and Jerusalem.
2 In days to come
the mountain of the Lord’s house
shall be established as the highest of the mountains
and shall be raised above the hills;
all the nations shall stream to it.
3 Many peoples shall come and say,
“Come, let us go up to the mountain of the Lord,
to the house of the God of Jacob,
that he may teach us his ways
and that we may walk in his paths.”
For out of Zion shall go forth instruction
and the word of the Lord from Jerusalem.
4 He shall judge between the nations
and shall arbitrate for many peoples;
they shall beat their swords into plowshares
and their spears into pruning hooks;
nation shall not lift up sword against nation;
neither shall they learn war any more.
5 O house of Jacob,
come, let us walk
in the light of the Lord!
May the words of my mouth and the meditations of all our hearts be reflections of your word to us today, in Christ’s name we pray. Amen
Advent begins with a vision of hope. With the eyes of God, Isaiah looks around at his community in Jerusalem and offers an idea for the future. It’s a hope, a dream, a desire, that could be transformed into an intention, then an action plan, and one day take on flesh, becoming a physical reality.
Isaiah proclaims: In days to come the mountain of the Lord’s house shall be established as the highest of the mountains. In his day, mountains were thought to be the dwelling places of gods, where heaven and earth intersect. When we think about how the world looks from a mountain peak, we can appreciate why. Isaiah suggests the highest of mountains would then be the meeting place of God and the people of the world.1 Let’s imagine placing ourselves in this vision (you can close your eyes or not). We’re standing on that high mountain and feel the support of the earth under us, the force of gravity gently anchoring us to the mountaintop. We might even think about drawing up energy from the earth to our center.
The presence of God then comes down from the heavens and pours in from the top of our heads and meets the earth at our center. We are anchored by earth and heaven, supported and empowered by both the material and ethereal. Can we say that one is more holy than the other? Perhaps they are simply partners in a sacred dialogue between the mystery, which can barely be grasped, and matter, which moves ever so slowly.
If we are participating in such a sacred dialogue, then the divine is deeply involved and invested in the movement of matter. This is not a distant and indifferent Divinity, rather profoundly engaged and supportive. Perhaps from the mountaintop, as Isaiah’s words suggest, we can imagine God’s vision of the world.
A world where people say: “Come, let us go up to the mountain of the Lord, to the house of the God of Jacob, that he may teach us his ways and that we may walk in his paths.” People will long to climb the mountain to learn God’s teachings and walk in God’s ways. People will enter into relationship with God. No more will God be limited to an idea or a subject of conversation . . . people will pause and open to the Mystery and awaken to their interdependence with the holy presence.
In his theology of relationship, theologian Martin Buber emphasized the human/divine relationship with these words: “You need God in order to be, and God needs you for that which is the meaning of your life."2 In God’s vision, people will awaken to this relationship that doesn’t exist up here (indicate above head) in a hyper spiritualized or transcendent space. Rather, people will turn toward this divine/human relationship that has everything to do with the unfolding of life here on earth. This relationship has everything to do with our lives, our joys and our ache, our dreams and our history, our growth and our healing.
I was trying to think of a good story to illustrate this idea. I thought about it all day yesterday and came up with very little, because in my experience it’s not often as clear as a story that can be articulated. It’s a bunch of little moments strung together over time that draw our attention and then flow into what is happening next. There was one story that came to mind. I think I’ve told it, but I’ll tell it again. I have always been afraid of the world – I was just born that way – and when I was about 25 I woke up from a nap, just terrified of what, I didn’t know. It was dark outside and dinner time. I needed to go to the store, so I put on a big coat and put the hood up. As I walked through the grocery store, I somehow had the idea to just observe my surroundings and observe the people doing their shopping. Somehow, my response to fear was to ask it to observe and then think about whether fear made sense as a response to the world around me. I don’t know for sure where this idea came from, but I think it was the Holy Spirit. In a real situation in my life, the Spirit accompanied me inside my hood, just inviting me to look and see. My relationship with fear changed that day and continues to change.
Every person in the world is invited into the human/divine relationship, regardless of their spiritual context. Can you imagine if every person in the world was aware of and affirmed their own belovedness and the belovedness of others - what kind of world we would have? When we are intentional about relationship with God, we are more able to receive God’s support and be know the meaning of our lives.
Humans tend to wonder: why doesn’t God just make the world They want? Two things come to mind. Firstly, if God snapped their fingers and changed life on earth, God would also have to change each of us and everything we’re attached to, including perhaps our belief systems, expectations, where we live, how we spend our time - the world would all of a sudden be a whole new ball game. Because we live in physical bodies, we just don’t change and grow in an instant. As I said earlier, matter moves slowly. If we were pushed beyond our limits by the divine launch of a whole world overhaul, more harm would be done than good.
Secondly, God gave us free will and without getting into a whole discussion on the topic, any divine action that doesn’t come through creation would be a violation of that gift.
In Isaiah’s vision, relationship with God translates then into a change in behaviour. Instead of learning and practicing the skills of war, tools of battle are beaten into tools for cultivating soil. It follows that people will put their bodies to work cultivating food that nourishes. Instead of teaching bodies to fight, people will teach their bodies how to plant and harvest, savour and share, feast and give thanks to God for such abundance!
In the practice of gratitude and thanks, they will realize that it is only through their bodies that they perceive the presence of God at all . . . and they will be moved to listen for the voice of God in the words of their loved ones, in the wind and the trees. To look for the divine in the faces of children, in acts of mercy and healing. To smell God on a newborn’s head, or sailing on the water. To taste God in a perfectly ripe and juicy piece of fruit, or in a dish carefully and lovingly prepared. To feel the touch of God in a welcome embrace, or sitting on a warm, sun-soaked stone. To open to God’s presence within and experience their own inner holiness. They will know this world as God-filled, and they will say, come, let us walk in the light of the Lord!
As we close, let us return to the mountaintop, where earth meets heaven in us. As we look out through God’s eyes on the world we live in, the one that has unfolded through history, we can see the many people and events that have supported God’s vision of hope, like Jesus of Nazareth, and many others that have opposed it. This Advent season gives us a fresh opportunity to consider a world with more spirituality and love, of stronger communities and greater cooperation, and to wonder how we might, in a large or small way, participate in the next iteration of God’s vision taking on flesh in our world. Thanks be to God.
1 The New Interpreter’s Study Bible, p. 961
2 I and Thou, Martin Buber – page unknown.